Wolves and Shepards
by MSVLR
Summary: Set after Hannibal, the book. 'Both wolves and shepards silence lambs, Clarice. The difference is how.' Dedicated to MandaPanda2.
1. Chapter 1

Muscle and sinew rippled as Margot shifted in an attempt to find a comfortable position in the ornate conference chairs. The chairs served as a reminder of her brother, may he rest in hell. He loved two things: visual opulence, which the smooth, leather upholstery provided, and the enjoyment of seeing other people as uncomfortable as possible. She settled, determined not to move again.

Judy shifted over so her shoulder pressed against Margot's, radiating a calm presence. She had always been the more tranquil of the two, but with the pregnancy, it was as if she drew strength and composure from the unborn child. As always, Margot felt a mixed surge of protectiveness toward her partner and envy at her position. She was so secure in her femininity.

A discrete clearing of the throat announced the entrance of David Burnum, of Burnum, Leas & Green, primary law firm of the Verger family. The senior partner's presence at the Maryland estate was a tacit apology from the firm, which was in the awkward position of having treated the now sole heir of their best client as a recalcitrant family member for the past decade. It had been a tense three months as Mason's death was officially investigated.

"Good morning, Ms. Verger, Ms. Ingram. Thank you for making time for me." David's nodded in greeting to forestall shaking hands as he set down his briefcase and snapped it open with practiced fingers. He removed matching embossed folders marked confidential, sliding one over to the couple. Margot flipped it open, holding it so her lover could see. "This is the latest copy of Mason's will, last updated three years before his death. In addition is the copy of your father's will, as a reference.

"As you know, you father specified that all of his assets were to go to his son, or upon his son's death, his heir, to be proven by lab testing. I would like to thank you for your understanding in undergoing the DNA test, Ms. Verger. You understand that it was strict formality." Margot nodded impatiently. David moved directly to the point.

"Upon Mason's death, and with your proof as heir, you are set to receive half of all of the assets that had been willed to your brother. The other half are to be dealt with as stated in Mason's will."

Margot closed her eyes briefly, then gave the attorney a smoldering look. "And what did my deceased brother do with his share?"

"He elected to have an irrevocable living trust established; he has already transferred all of the personal property, including this estate, to the trust. In addition, the trust has controlling interest of Verger Products, Inc. - sixty-seven percent, to be precise."

Margot's nostrils flared. "That seems like a helluva lot more than half of daddy's estate, David."

"Unfortunately, yes. You see, once property is transferred to an Irrevocable Living Trust, so is control over it. He had authority over all the assets while he was alive, so he was within his perfect legal rights to transfer two-thirds of the assets to the trust."

"Two-thirds!" Margot was choking on rage. "I'm left with only one _third _of the estate?"

"Half of a third. I mean, one-sixth. Mason's will determines where his portion of the original assets will go. It mirrors your father's; it will go to an heir of Mason Verger, to be proven by a DNA test. If there is no heir, it is to be given to the Inner-city Children's Fund."

_You really pissed Daddy off with that muff-diving, Margot_. Mason's words rose, unbidden, to mock her. She had been afraid of him still as he lay crippled, and now, even in death he mocked her. What he had never counted on was the fetus growing in Judy's womb. Mason's heir would be the undoing of his last push for a legacy.

"Trusts are set up with a purpose and a beneficiary, Mr. Burnum. What and who?" Judy chimed in for the first time, startling her partner.

"As the trustee, I am authorized to continue practicing business as I see fit, until such time as I can dissolve the trust and give the assets to the sole beneficiary, Margot."

"Why…"

"I am not at liberty to give his reasons, but I can tell you the event that must occur before dissolution."

"The death of Hannibal Lecter." Margot's voice was husky. The attorney wondered if it was from anger or the testosterone shots.

"Yes."


	2. Chapter 2

Dust swirled, dancing in the broad, afternoon sunbeams, and then continued a lazy descent to the marble floor. Lattice windows of iron projected shadows onto the floor down the tiled hall. This part of the memory palace was largely inspired by St. Peter's Basilica, and like the papal home, words could not capture the quintessence of such a place. Dr. Lecter strode down the corridor, not from a need to hurry, but out of satisfaction to be moving in quick, sure strides.

This was the wing devoted to his stay in Maryland, because it always reminded him of St. Paul's. The London cathedral was designed and begun by Christopher Wren, whose last work was to be the glowing culmination of his career. Mercifully, Wren died with no knowledge of the impending distortions. He specified no gravesites in the church, and was interred there himself; forbade sculptures and was given free-standing monuments; banned gold and inherited a gilt ceiling; instructed translucent windows to allow sunlight and was sealed in by garish stained glass. His vision was a temple dedicated to God, of simple, natural elegance, and it became a monstrosity flaunting the arrogance and pettiness of man.

Hannibal was wryly amused as his shoes audibly measured his progress down the long passageway. Dr. Chilton's attempt to defile his mnemonic palace, to tear it down brick by brick, was akin to the lesser architects making their defiling marks on Wren's work. It took a fool to attempt such debasement on an armed fortress, but a fool was what Chilton was. A delicious one, in fact.

The cadence of footsteps slowed as Dr. Lecter neared his most frequent destination. As always he paused, centering himself before reaching for the sculpted brass handle in the otherwise unadorned mahogany door. Out of all his unusual traits none was ever so ignored by critics and fans alike as his capacity for reverence. His veneration of the sublime was quintessential to his being. It was the need to worship that drew him here.

This was the section of his mind devoted to Clarice. Before doing anything else, Hannibal summoned the memory of her jogging through the woods: the movement of her muscles as she moved along the path with lithe grace, the crisp feel of the fall morning air, the distinct smell of worn leather and lotion. He had ached for her then, this wayward starling. She had changed so much from the time she had come to interview him in Maryland, all young confidence and naiveté, thinking the world was as straightforward as she was. She knew better now, and her running reflected it. She was no longer training for the trails she would face, but using it as way to suspend the current ones; to clear her mind of politics, injustices and pettiness that others had thrust upon her.

Dr. Lecter turned his inward gaze from the memory palace, allowing both the image and structure to fade. Morning light filtered through the gauzy curtains, highlighting the mussed hair of the determinedly burrowed Clarice. She was his living sculpture, a perfectly cut diamond he had discovered in the rough. He complemented her satin skin with finest silks, smoothed her calming voice with the romantic languages, enhanced her already intoxicating female scent with delicate blends of perfumes of his own design.

Yet this unselfconscious, vulnerable state always intrigued him the most. Reaching over, he caressed the small fleck of gunpowder embedded in her cheek, her earned mark of courage. Still mostly asleep, Clarice kissed his fingers and drew him in beside her.


	3. Chapter 3

Four thousand miles away and six hours later, a similar scene was taking place in Maryland. Margot leaned against the doorjamb, damping the sweat from her morning routine off her face with the corner of the towel slung over her well-developed shoulder. Judy had disentangled herself from the covers and curled up around them in the absence of her partner. Margot quietly huffed to herself in amusement; she always found Judy's habit of conquering as much bed as possible adorable, mostly because she was only too happy to be swathed in soft limbs.

Turning from her lover, Margot moved quietly into the kitchen. At fourteen weeks or so into the pregnancy, Judy was still solidly in the morning sickness phase, so Margot tried to keep all cooking to a minimum when she was awake. Normally, she would go for a power bar, but right now, she'd about kill for a pancake. She had three on the griddle with a handful of chocolate chips poised to go in when a soft chuckle announced that she'd been caught.

Fighting the urge to hide the spatula behind her back, Margot looked over at the rumpled and grinning woman in the doorway. "Morning. Can you manage breakfast?"

Judy shrugged. "For your cooking, I'll certainly try. You can have my share of chocolate chips, though." She slid into her accustomed seat, which just so happened to give her an excellent view of her partner's back and shoulders as she worked. After observing for a few minutes, she learned forward in the chair. "So what are you stressing about?"

"Me?" Margot scraped another pancake off and shoved it at a plate.

"Yes. It can't be money. We have more than either – all three of us could spend in our lifetimes, and you never cared for the high life anyway. So what am I missing?" The question on the table, Judy sat back, content to wait as Margot gathered her thoughts together. Once she had been challenged in any way, she'd answer… even if she might stall for a few minutes using mundane tasks as an excuse.

"I'm afraid they'll find Lecter. He's good as disappearing, but with the sheer amount of money at Barnum's disposal, he's still going to be caught."

"That's what you should want, though, right? I mean, what with your inheritance and him being your brother's murderer and all."

"Judy." The soft, intense use of her name made her look up into Margot's eyes. Her gaze said two things: that she was guilty of Mason's death, and that could not say it aloud for fear that their home – their sanctuary of the last several years – was under surveillance. At that moment, the smell of chocolate wafted over to her and her stomach lurched. Hand over her mouth, she stumbled from the room, unsure of whether it was the unborn child making her ill of the knowledge of how its father died.

Margot turned to the window, plate in hand as she looked across the lake. The sun was just moving out from behind the trees, burning the morning mist. For the benefit of her conscience and any nearby recording devices she mused aloud. "Barnum has more reason to keep the trust intact. He can collect fees for the rest of his life without having to answer anyone for it… unless I get to Lecter first."

Satisfied with her performance for anyone monitoring, she tucked into breakfast.


End file.
